


Undertow

by Nununununu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Chastity Device, Face Slapping, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kneeling, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Submission, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: “You like it, don’t you,” Randolph isn’t speaking to Corin; just to the idea of him, “Being here like this with me, on your knees.”
Relationships: Obsessed King/His Most Beloved Slave, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 7
Kudos: 81
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Undertow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SouthernContinentSkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/gifts).



> (Originally posted 12/12; updated for author reveals)

“The King will see you again on the hour.”

Bowing to show his understanding, Corin waits until he’s alone to close his eyes.

He should be grateful.

He reminds himself of this. He’s seen how the other pleasure slaves are kept, even the ones King Randolph favours – if not anywhere near as much as he favours Corin – Corin’s seen what can and does happen to them. He’s kept in sumptuous luxury in comparison, surrounded by riches greater than many of Randolph’s courtiers possess in their own dwellings, except for certain discrepancies, such as the fact he cannot leave; he’s heard them talk while kneeling at the throne at the King’s feet.

He doesn’t have time to linger like this. Rising, Corin glances around the opulent chamber to check it’s arranged as Randolph favours – the iron gratings over the windows pushed back and the windows themselves thrown open to let the sunlight in, greenery curling in from outside so little flowers peek into the room. There’s the scent of them on the air and the sea, the chamber at the top of a tower at the edge of a cliff at the far eastern side of the palace, near enough above the water.

It’s a long drop. Corin’s intimately familiar with this; he’s spent hours gazing out at the horizon. If he adds up those hours, it might even be days.

He doesn’t want to know if it would be days.

The bed – vast, silk-draped and piled with plush cushions – dominates the chamber, more than the beautiful carvings surrounding the hearth or the low polished table and finely made chairs. It’s as spotless as if Randolph hadn’t pressed him face down upon it earlier, household slaves having crept in silently to clean up once the King had left to attend a meeting with his councillors and Corin had escaped to the baths through the arched doorway that leads to the only other room that makes up his world, aside from time spent at the King’s feet at court.

He loves the baths, except when Randolph takes him in there. He can run the water and close his eyes for as long as he isn’t required, and pretend he’s drifting somewhere out to sea. Not to anywhere in particular – where would a slave ineradicably marked as his King’s property have to flee? But just – drifting.

Drifting away.

There isn’t time now for such thoughts, either. Corin pours the King a glass of the wine Randolph likes best, awarded him by the head of the household slaves, an older man who knows his worth and knows that to provide Corin with everything Randolph requires him to have will serve well in his favour.

The previous head of the household slaves, bitter about their treatment, had not lasted nearly as long. Corin tries to clean up the chamber and baths as best he can himself, to do what little he can for them, but there’s a fine line between helping his helpers and causing offence. Even slaves have pride.

Even _he_ has an amount of pride left, however he sometimes thinks it should have long worn out of him by now.

It’s difficult to remember this when he’s dressed himself in the slips of jewel-encrusted silk Randolph demands he wear, so far from anything Corin would willingly choose. It’s difficult to remember when Randolph arrives twenty minutes after the hour – and who is Corin to have any opinion on the fact the King always makes him wait? Randolph is the ruler of all in this land and, besides, what else would Corin be doing?

“Kneel,” Randolph commands as he sweeps into the chamber, bedecked in rings and his rich robes, and slaps Corin across the face after Corin’s knees have met the ground.

“My King,” Having anticipated this, Corin sways to the extent Randolph finds appropriate and inhales very carefully in place of holding his hand to his stinging cheek.

“Lovely,” Randolph caresses that cheek as if appreciating the warmth blooming there, and then tips Corin’s face from one side to the other as if to inspect him; as if he hasn’t already spent more than an hour just examining Corin – or the pleasure slave he has created out of Corin – earlier in the day.

“ _Lovely_ ,” Randolph’s thumb presses just that bit too hard against Corin’s lips and so he parts them around it as much as he doesn’t want to, his eyelashes feathering as he aims his gaze somewhere around the King’s knees. Any higher and he’ll be accused of a lack of humility, and duly punished. And being able to see what the King is going to do to him – although Randolph can and does enjoy being unpredictable – is better than not knowing.

“So submissive,” A large hand strokes briefly through Corin’s hair, possessive, before closing around the back of Corin’s head to guide him in to lean his forehead against Randolph’s hip. The rich fur lining the King’s clothes tickles his skin and he has to work hard not to react to it, trying not to breathe too deeply, the smell of the other man’s arousal already cloying, already making him want to choke.

“You like it, don’t you,” Randolph isn’t speaking to Corin; just to the idea of him, “Being here like this with me, on your knees.”

“Yes, my King,” At least Corin’s role in this non-conversation does not require much thought or creative input. Resentment stirs in him nonetheless, just as it does every time he is forced to pretend such agreement, but he has no desire to share the fate of pleasure slaves who have fallen out of Randolph’s favour – and for all the courtiers murmur that the King is obsessed with Corin, Corin has no illusions that this will save him if he manages to cause offence.

Choking at the mere scent of the King’s arousal is _definitely_ not a good idea.

Corin has learned how to breathe through it, how to minimise his awareness of the overpowering scent. How to react when the King slaps his face again, raising a deeper red on the cheek Randolph then spends some time stroking, murmuring honeyed words of false regret that only serve to cause shame to burn harder in Corin’s chest – it _did_ hurt, but he has no wish for the King to realise this.

It doesn’t matter what he wishes. All that matters is what Randolph wants.

This is something else Corin has learned: how to hold himself still and pliant when the King pushes him back without warning in order for Randolph to lower himself down to one knee in front of him – the King kneeling to a pleasure slave!

What delight Corin must take in this, or so he’s been told.

“Now just look at those,” Randolph croons as he guides away silk to reveal the marks forever imprinted on Corin’s body, marks that identify him as the personal property of this man, “And look at _this_.”

Randolph’s smirk grows as he closes his hand over the device he has Corin wear whenever he is alone, the intricately formed contraption that prevents Corin from accessing his own cock. With care, he can piss with it on and clean himself, but any arousal he might feel is reserved for the King.

Whether he feels any arousal _for_ the King is not something that matters here.

Randolph’s hand is heavy between Corin’s legs now and he doesn’t glance at Corin’s face or enquire after his opinion as he reaches down his heavy robes for the key, because why would the opinion of a pleasure slave be of importance to a King?

Corin is aware that this man has unified the nation; that he brought the lands out of a long period of chaos and strife and created peace. Peace with a price – Corin being part of it – but peace nonetheless.

In this too, he ought to be grateful to him.

“Ah, there you are,” Randolph addresses Corin’s cock as he unlocks the contraption to free what lies within, and his fingers are heavy still, even as they pet Corin’s shaft, sword calluses scraping just enough that Corin has to work not to flinch away, the King’s thumb dry as it pushes Corin’s foreskin back to press against the tip of the glans beneath. The thing is –

The thing is that, a little uncomfortable as it is, it still feels good. And this is Randolph’s intent. He works at Corin’s cock until it starts to fill out, cooing sweet words of praise that Corin can’t admit to himself are condescending – at least not until later, when he’s alone.

Randolph does all manner of things to him within these walls, lavishes all sorts of attentions on his favourite slave. Corin submits to them, because he must.

He thinks of the sea as Randolph compels him onto the floor; thinks of the water that can appear calm on the surface but have such strong currents beneath. Thinks of the storms that sometimes lash the ocean, late at night when even the King has retired and it feels like Corin is the only one awake to watch and yearn.

“That’s it, that’s it, you beautiful thing,” Excitement fills Randolph’s voice as he manipulates Corin’s body into responding to him, stroking his cock until Corin is close to coming only to stop or slow back down. Doing this over and over until Corin is writhing with it, his ears burning at the observations the King makes, at the power Randolph holds over him, at the fact he not only _must_ respond but _does_ respond to this man’s touch; at just how incredible it ends up feeling.

He wants Randolph without _wanting_ to want him, and it fills Corin with such –

No.

Randolph holds Corin’s life as well as his cock in that large hand. Corin is his, whether he would have it or not. He does what the King wants him to and ensures the King receives whatever pleasures he demands, in whatever manner Randolph sees fit.

Any emotions Corin may feel about any of this are not Randolph’s to know; he will not think any further on them now. They are the one true thing that Corin has to himself.

That and the sea.

Once Randolph is done with him – this time; there will always be a time after – Corin retreats to the baths. Sinks into the warm clean water as if it can wash away everything, closes his eyes and pictures the ocean beyond his prison tower.

And drifts.


End file.
